by Ryan DeBruyn
“Leaves your body? To where?”
“It flows into the planet as far as I can tell…” Ogma trailed off as noise came down the hallway leading to the box.
That was all Azrael was going to get out of the man, it seemed. Should he share this knowledge with Verimy, Dara, and Bat? What about Jophiel?
***
It was the following day and Azrael was sitting in the antechamber, preparing for his upcoming life or death fight.
He shook his head and began stacking Soul Strike into his sword. There were a few minutes left before the fight started, so he sat to meditate and recoup his Ether. If he kept the skill active on the blade, he was able to regenerate half of the infused Ether. He managed to infuse three stacks before the timer reached zero.
Azrael got to his feet as the gate opened to the arena. He walked out onto the sands, his sword glowing faintly, and waved to the crowd. To his surprise, the protection enchantment was already active. His eyes caught movement, and his head snapped to lock onto a gray-skinned, smiling horror charging over the sand.
He hadn’t even stepped out of the gates fully, and the Wendigo was already a quarter of the way across. Azrael Analyzed his opponent.
Hannibal
Journeyman-Wendigo
Level 12
Health Points: 1550/1550
The smile became more evident, and Azrael shivered. It was such a gleeful expression, from a mouth of razor-sharp teeth, that he just couldn’t help the reaction. It was like a rabid animal, who was finally unleashed to tear something apart and eat the remains. Seeing the speed of his opponent, Azrael entered Dancing Leaf’s defensive forms and began a split step.
The claws of his opponent were four-inch blades, the teeth two-inch saws. Azrael knew that one blow could end his life. He needed every advantage he could manage, and to use every lesson he had ever learned.
He activated Soul Cloak just as the creature closed to twenty feet and wasn’t a moment too soon. Hannibal activated a skill, and its claws shot from the right hand. Azrael had seen this skill before and batted two from the air with quick slashes as he maneuvered away from the others. The Wendigo left the ground with an inhuman leap, aiming its landing right on top of Azrael.
Azrael reacted by instinct and released his triple charged Soul Strike at the creature mid-air. The greatest weakness of a non-skill-assisted leap attack was that it gave the user no real opportunity to adjust course. Hannibal, being an undead, didn’t use tactics—more animal instincts.
The Soul Strike struck the gray skin of the undead mid-air and bounced his opponent away. The reciprocating saws of the skill failed to gain purchase on the lightweight body of his opponent. Still, the ability caused one-hundred and fifty points of damage, according to a quick Analyze.
Its body isn’t as strong as the Rhino, but it is ten times as fast.
Hannibal didn’t leap into the air again, instead charging at Azrael with its dog-like run. Azrael used his split step to shift right. As Hannibal course-corrected, he moved his weight further right and then flicked his calf and pushed back left. All of the Wendigo’s instincts made Azrael’s stance work, and he slashed down at the ribs of the undead as it passed by a few feet away. He placed a single charge of Soul Strike around his sword, and this time saw the skill gain a bit of purchase before he was forced to leap away in shock.
His ribs burned excruciatingly, and he glanced to find five vicious claw marks, two claws still embedded in his left side. He followed the retreating form of Hannibal, and scrutinized his opponent. There! The back-left leg was missing two nails. Azrael had focused on his strike and somehow missed his opponent’s counter. A disease debuff climbed onto his interface. He pulled out the two claws as Hannibal stopped and began stalking in a slow circle. Azrael lost ten health from the initial slash and would lose one health a minute for thirty minutes according to a quick read.
I can’t let this debuff stack. No more mistakes.
Azrael had noted it could stack those debuffs from watching the Wendigo’s previous fight. Hannibal stood up on two legs, changing its dog-like form to something more human. Azrael found the sight disturbing as the emaciated body stretched out. Instead of another charge, his opponent continued to circle him. It was slowly closing in with its manic smile and flexing fingers, claws extended.
Just as Azrael landed from a split step, Hannibal shot two of its finger claws at him. Azrael twisted his body to avoid one and blocked the other with his sword hilt. The defense and his shift of focus was clearly the Wendigo’s intention, because it shot forward.
Azrael released Jophi’s Fireball from his earring. The creature somehow anticipated the attack and dodged as it closed the remainder of the gap. The Fireball exploded on the sand behind it. The Wendigo began swiping at him with lightning-fast jabs. His Soul Cloak blazed and began to help him avoid the blows, but only slightly.
He struck at each limb, trying to sever the hand, but only scored cuts and slashes on his opponent—even with Soul Strike’s help. The Wendigo scored four more hits on him, and he swore. This couldn’t continue, or the debuff alone would kill him regardless of the outcome of the battle. He dropped one hand off his hilt and continued to dance around strikes as he reached out and whispered, "Release ten!"
Hannibal bit into his hand, its mouth encompassing Azrael’s pinky finger and ring finger. The razor-sharp teeth pierced into his palm. Simultaneously, the skill exploded out. Azrael blinked in the aftermath of the confusing moment. He was staring at his hand, which was still pierced by the Wendigo’s teeth – but only the back?
The top of Hannibal’s head still sat on the back of his hand, its eyes glaring at Azrael. He stared in disbelief as something slumped down and bumped wetly into his thigh. His trump card had torn through Hannibal’s jaw, neck, and most of the upper torso before exiting and careening across the sand. Azrael checked his debuff bar and saw he had ten stacks of the disease, and as he watched, it ticked up to eleven.
He pulled the head off of his hand and hurriedly threw it away, stepping away from the rest of the body. Blood sprayed from the holes in his hand and he checked his health to find it at ninety points. The debuff had renewed itself, giving him thirty minutes to survive. Azrael had one chance to live without the crowd’s help, and so he sat down and began meditating on the spot.
This was a race now between his regeneration and the debuff. Azrael tried to calculate his chances and kept realizing his regeneration would likely not be strong enough. He entered meditation as deeply as he could. Sweat began to form on his brow—his health regen was going to fail; if the crowd didn’t save him, he was going to die.
He felt each minute tick by. Not in the cliché way he would use to describe boredom. No, every few seconds, his gut clenched, and his world spun as the debuff ravaged his body. After the fifth such ‘attack,’ he felt his body begin to weaken and numb.
That could be a good thing, or he might be so close to death that his body was shutting down. He didn’t know and couldn’t afford to look.
“Live! Live! Live! Live!” A chant began to reverberate over the sands as the protection shield receded.
“The Sovereign Son is close to succumbing to the disease of the Wendigo. Could this spell the end of our rookie phenom?” The announcer overrode the chant for a moment. “What is the Coordinator’s decision?”
A wave of cooling relaxation washed over him and he felt himself almost collapse at the euphoria his body felt. The healers had arrived, helping to save him in the nick of time. The crowd had clearly decided to save him, but had Oberan waited to acquiesce to add to the suspense?
“The Sovereign Son lives to fight another day. He will return to the first challenge. Come see him face off with the Frost Bunnies once again, in three days!” the announcer boomed.
Azrael cracked an eyelid with great effort. They were stuck shut. He needed to reach up and physically help the action with his fingers. Scabbed blood fell away onto his palm as the eyelid finally opened. He repeated
the work on the other eye.
Azrael found his health sitting at five points and his debuff bar clear. The crowd had saved him—he had lived.
His mind screamed at him. His life had just been placed in the hands of the bloody mob!
He had sworn not to let that happen.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Azrael awoke the next morning to his sphincter clenching as a familiar voice echoed down the hallway to their third-floor cells. “I heard they changed the rules of the tournament and have allowed the contestants ta get a one-time refund! Now Azrael will have ta face opponents equally geared! I bet the next month’s salary that today that skidmark loses!”
There was a brief silence as footsteps continued echoing down the entry hall. Then the growly voice of Papi responded, “Torin, didn’t you say that you would pay back your debt with your next two paychecks?”
The sound of spit splattering on the wall had Azrael out of bed and activating his Soul Cloak in a heartbeat. He watched as the Bearman, Torin, and four other guards entered the area with loop poles. That number was odd, but Papi stayed close to Torin—both of them approaching his cell.
I guess Oberan no longer wants to take any chances. Six guards for four of us?
The number of guards gave Azrael an idea, and he called over to Ogma, “Looks like they put two guards on me and none on you, big guy. Guess that confirms Gyr is more worried about me than you!” Azrael threw out Gyr’s name, hoping he had guessed right. Someone had to be in charge of the guards in the complex, and he knew it wouldn’t be Oberan himself.
Ogma’s eyebrows drew together, and he frowned slightly. Azrael smiled broadly, then shrugged, “Looks like they aren’t going to even put a guard on you for this escort because you are a member of the Tuatha.”
Azrael moved to his double-gated entrance, and Papi elbowed Torin, who shrugged, looking at Ogma and then back to Azrael. The ugly orc frowned, making its face even uglier before asking one of the other guards, “Did Gyr want us to escort everyone here down to the team antechamber?”
The other guard was a fair-skinned, pointy-eared, very skinny elf. He responded haughtily, his voice carrying a great deal of disdain, “Can’t you count, orc! There are six prisoners and six of us. It seems pretty obvious to me. We have been bringing them all to the box, haven’t we? Still, you were given the orders, not us.”
Torin narrowed its eyes and searched them one by one. Azrael wasn’t sure what it was looking for. It wasn’t like anyone would yell out ‘Fooled you!’
Papi elbowed Torin, “Look, man, you get the big guy. You are closer to his level. I will take the kid and lead the way.” Azrael smiled as Torin began to scratch its scalp. This had gone farther than he ever thought it would, and he crossed his fingers behind his back.
Torin spat to the side and turned its glare on Azrael.
Does it suspect me of something?
“Don’t worry, Azrael. If you survive today, I will make sure I am the one to escort you back!” Torin sneered as it turned to walk over to Ogma’s cell. It pointed to the double gate mechanism angrily, seeming irritated with the Firbolg for not yet being ready.
Ogma complied, looking at Azrael suspiciously but willing to let this play out. The rest of the group was already noosed, and Papi slipped the collar over Azrael’s head, which stopped any further conversation. The group was led, by their necks, to the waiting room, and all deposited one by one into it.
As soon as the entire group was in, Azrael cheered, “Welcome to the group, Ogma and Dara.”
The others smiled at Ogma, and a few even looked hopeful. Jophi gave the big Firbolg a huge hug, and he returned it. This was an interesting development. Azrael may have a second option for escape. Ogma was an enchanter, which meant Bat could show him the area they needed to disenchant, and they could figure out if it was possible together.
Bat was the farthest along, by far, in the enchanting training they had been performing every night. He just seemed to have a knack for seeing the flow of Ether. While Bat could definitely have disenchanted the clankers, Azrael wasn’t sure if he could manage the enchantments out of their room.
Azrael saw the countdown timer start. He equipped the set of Ether-Tech gear and thought back to Torin’s conversation. Based on the orc’s betting habits, he knew something would be different this time around, something that would disadvantage him or even the playing field at least. Returning equipment meant that the group might be allowed to pool their gear on a single fighter—just like Azrael’s team had done.
The question was, would they? Should they use up the extra points to buy more gear for him?
Azrael looked at the gear. He didn’t think they needed more and instead turned to the group. “Buy another set of Ether-Tech armor. If you have any more points left after that, get some more armor or weapons. Whatever you think is best. We are going to have to try to escape from here…”
For once, the group just nodded at him. He had assuaged both Verimy and Jophiel by tricking Torin into bringing Dara and Ogma down to the team room. He pressed his lips together. They were headed to the hypogeum and the Enbarr, though. So, instead of freedom, he had likely bought everyone a sure death. At least Musth would be up here…
He put the armor on and stood in his space between the two gates. He turned back and nodded to the group with the Ether-Tech helmet under his arm. He reminded them, “Don’t forget that this inner gate needs to open as well, if you gain access to the hypogeum.” They all nodded and looked over to Bat and Ogma, who knelt in the far corner over what looked like a cold air return. Bat was making gestures with his hands, seeming to describe a route through the walls to Ogma.
Azrael smiled, put his helmet on, and whispered to himself, “Try to give them as much time as you can.”
As soon as the door opened, Azrael recognized that something was different than the last round of fighting. He looked around himself, trying to understand what had changed. He saw his opponent exit the far doors and the sun glinted from some brand-new equipment set. However, that wasn’t what was giving him pause. He scanned the cage that should have held Musth and froze. Where was the nightmare elephant?
The cage wasn’t empty. No, inside the forcefield were five Wendigos. Ten pairs of red eyes and crooked smiles raised goosebumps all over his skin under the Ether-Tech suit. Had they changed the prod precisely because of his last near-death experience? He tore his gaze away and locked on his opponent’s slowly advancing suit of armor. Or was it because of Musth’s rampage during the last match?
Or were they aware of his last plan of escape? There was no other option, though.
The heavy suit of armor kept approaching. The opposing team must have watched his previous fights and assumed he had the most trouble with tank classes. The humanoid moving towards him was covered from head to toe in thick metal. In one hand, it held a long-handled single-sided ax and strapped to its other arm was a massive tower shield.
Azrael bit his lip. That suit couldn’t be as expensive as Azrael’s Ether-Tech gear, which meant he still had the advantage. He Analyzed his opponent and started a charge.
Craterface
Journeyman-Metal Knight
Level 31
Health Points: 3200/3200
Strong Analyze has failed to provide additional information.
Azrael wasn’t sure how he was going to chew through that much health. His immediate goal was to make sure the timer for the Wendigo release didn’t start. He closed in and began weaving in a pattern, attempting to force Craterface to turn the awkward tower shield. It wasn’t hard, and as soon as it lifted the cumbersome thing, Azrael planted and changed direction. He charged in, gaining the side of the Metal Knight, and began slashing at its armor with just his sword. This was his first experiment. He needed to know if his sword combined with his technological and Ether strength could penetrate this armor.
Loud screeches sounded as the edge of his sword etched deep grooves into the thick armor. It failed to penetrate,
and the swinging ax forced Azrael to step back for a moment. This gave Craterface the chance to reorient the tower shield and trigger a skill. The shield glowed yellow for a split second and jumped forward. Azrael leaped into the air, and the Shield Bash passed several feet beneath him. This Ether-Tech gear was something else.
He landed behind Craterface and charged a single Soul Strike into his sword.
He cut at his opponent’s back using the aptly named form of Rock Cutter. This form used his body weight and core to attack with hefty sword swings. He wouldn’t have been able to use this form without the full Ether-Tech set; the opposite reaction of his strike contacting the armor would have broken his wrist at a minimum. Still, with his current set of gear on, an ear-piercing screech vibrated the air as his blade scored deeply into the metal. Azrael estimated that his cut was at least half an inch deep, but it still didn’t make it through the thick metal.
Craterface activated another skill, and its ax crashed into Azrael from the side. Azrael hadn’t seen it coming and flew away from the massive blow. He bounced over the ground but managed to gain his feet as he took stock of his armor and found a deep cut in his shoulder. It hadn’t made it through the mechanical armor. But he could see some exposed wires within the metal. He moved the arm and didn’t feel any loss of strength.
Next, Azrael set eyes on his opponent, who was currently spinning in lightning-fast circles. Almost like a toy top. This could only be the Whirlwind skill, which would be an abysmal decision in most fights. However, Azrael glanced at the Wendigos and sighed, “If I don’t attack soon, the timer will likely begin.”
He counted to thirty seconds slowly and then released his single charged Soul Strike at his opponent. The phantasmal blade bounced off the Whirlwind, and Azrael began another slow count to sixty seconds. A notification popped up.
